Dance Another Day
by Adrianna Nadine
Summary: "For a moment, remember when." Though she never knew her mother, it was because of her, because of the memories, that Carla never stopped dancing.


_**Dance Another Day**_

 _ **A/N:** This fic was inspired by my headcanon and the song "Dance Another Day" from the old Mew Mew Power dub. I'm very much aware that "Word of God" says that Carla's mother is in fact, alive. So, this is an AU where her mother passed away the day she was born. _

* * *

_I remember when…_

 _Your smile was just enough_

 _Things were simpler then_

 _You were not so tough_

 _I miss the times when you would say,_

 _Come on and dance another day._

* * *

Children had _never_ been part of the plan. Couldn't be. Not with the life they lived, travelling from place to place, always having to figure out how they'd make their way in every town they passed through. It was hard enough with two adults. A child would only be an obstacle. Yet, despite all the planning and precaution, she arrived on a chilly winter evening, bearing a gorgeous set of violet eyes that both melted and broke his heart. They weren't any set of eyes, they were _hers_.

He would never forget how excited his wife had been. Despite the situation, she remained in good spirits, eagerly picking up small items – blankets, clothing, small toys - here and there and talking circles around him about what their son would be like. She was so sure it was a boy and would believe nothing else, not after the amount of fierce kicking she endured in those last months. Once her mind was set, there was nothing he could do to change it, so he indulged her. Needless to say, he was nothing short of surprised when the midwife revealed that the baby was actually a _girl_ before gently handing over the bundle. The woman lingered for a moment, breathing deeply as she forced the words to come, kneeling down and setting a gentle hand on his knee before continuing. He watched her carefully, eyes widening when he caught the distressed expression on her face right before she said the words that would echo in his mind for years.

Victor was angry for a long time after that, though he wasn't sure at what. Whether it be the midwives for not doing enough, himself for not being there enough, his wife for not waking up, but not Carla. Never Carla.

It would always hurt, but he tried not to focus on the pain. He couldn't. Not when he had someone else who depended on him for _everything_. A fact that frightened him more than anything. Victor had been an only child. He had no idea how to look after - nonetheless raise - a child. Especially not a girl. But still, he tried for her. It was difficult at first, especially without his level-headed wife to help him through it, but he kept going, soon finding that having her around often worked in his favour. People would bend over backwards to "help" the single father left to raise his child alone.

As Carla got older, the game changed. She was a natural actress and a quick learner, easily picking up on both her lessons and the various tricks he taught her. She seemed to enjoy helping in her own way and thrived off of the praise he would give her when she completed a task. Most of the time. There were days when, no matter what he tried or how much he bribed her, she just wouldn't listen. She was stubborn, incredibly so, with a fierce, feisty attitude that refused to be tamed. Then, there were the questions. The girl was too curious for her own good, always wanting to know the why and how of her father's plans and pouting when she didn't get the answer she sought. A simple answer was never enough for Carla. She wanted to know all the intricate details, which, while aggravating at times, was nothing more than a mild annoyance until _that_ day. The day when she asked the question he had been dreading since day one.

* * *

It was rare that Carla spent time with other children, but on that particular day, he allowed it. She had been giving him trouble all day, fussing and arguing over every little thing. It was as if everything he did that day was _wrong_ in her pretty violet eyes. By the afternoon, Victor decided that he'd had enough of her attitude and, after naptime, promptly carried her over to their current town's small library during their daily story and play session.

"Well, aren't you pretty?" The caretaker complimented when she met them at the door, leaning down so that she was eye-level with Carla, who only stared back blankly. The woman smiled, looked up at Victor. "Her eyes are gorgeous!"

"Don't let them fool you," He said, carefully handing his daughter over, watching as she glanced from him to the woman, giving them both an unsure look.

"Papa?" Carla asked, reaching her arms back out to him with a whine.

"No. Papa has some things to do, so you're going to play here for awhile," He explained, reached out to pat her head. "Be good," He ordered, adding in his head, _'Please.'_

"Wait!" The caretaker called as he turned away. "What's her name?"

"Carla."

The woman smiled, turned to the little girl who only whined when she realised that her Papa was leaving. "He'll be back," She promised as they walked into a play room, where she gently set Carla down in the story circle with the other children, informing the reading librarian,

"This is Carla," Before heading back to the door, unaware of the little girl's wandering eyes as she followed her steps and watched carefully as one by one, mothers arrived to drop off children. She frowned at the site then _and_ later when the parents returned and were eagerly greeted with various calls of, "Mama! Mami! Mom!"

"There you are," A familiar voice said as Carla was suddenly swept up from her spot on the floor, giving first a startled squeal and then a laugh in response.

"Papa!" She said, eagerly wrapping her arms around his neck.

"You're in a better mood," Victor thought aloud, letting out a sigh of relief as they headed out, not noticing how she looked over his shoulder to watch as the other children filed out and into the town square, her frown returning and staying for the rest of the afternoon, which was unusually quiet. Victor taking note of how his daughter had moved from one extreme to the other, going from whining and complaining all day to saying nothing at all, which was highly unusual for her.

"Carla?" He finally asked that night as he carefully took down her hair, getting only a small noise in response as he gently brushed out the dark locks. "Is something wrong?"

She didn't answer right away, instead looked down at and fiddled with her hands. She didn't want to say what she was thinking. What if Papa got mad at her? After all, he never talked about it, so she figured it must be a bad thing.

He sighed, repeated her name as he gently turned the vanity stool around and then knelt down to take her hands. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

She nodded, looked up and locked eyes with him, his gentle gaze and touch calming her as the words finally came out, "Where's my mama?"

Victor immediately felt the blood drain from his face. He had been expecting this someday, one day, but not today. She was only _four_.

"Papa?" Carla reached up, set a little hand on his face, tears welling in her eyes when he only sighed and looked away, trying to figure out how to tell her in a way she would understand. The last thing he wanted was for her to think it was her fault.

"I'm sorry, Papa." She tried, and he turned back to her, gently brushed a falling tear from her cheek before moving to take her into his arms, saying nothing as he carried her to her bed and sat, placing her across his lap.

"What are you sorry for, Dear?"

"I made Papa sad."

He thought to protest, but knew better. Carla was very young, but also very smart. He couldn't lie to her, not about this. "It's true. I'm a little upset. But that's only because I miss your mama."

"Where is she?"

"Well…" He started, taking in a breath as he choked back his own emotions, "Your Mama passed away when you were born, but she's not completely gone. She's in the spirit world now. You know how we light candles on _Dia de los Muertos?_ "

Carla thought for a moment, nodded.

"Those are for your mother. To let her know we're still thinking about her," He explained, pausing as he suddenly realised something. "Carla, you've never seen your Mama, have you?"

She shook her head and he smiled, gently moved her off of his lap before making his way to and unlocking a trunk across the room, soon returning to her side with another box, smiling at the way Carla curiously leaned over his arm to look into it before shifting her attention to the portrait he handed her.

"Pretty," She said, gently running her small fingers along the frame.

"And you look _just_ like her. You have the same eyes and the same hair…" He trailed off as she climbed down. "…Where are you going?" He asked, watching as she padded over to the trunk, placed her hands on the edge to steady herself as she carefully rose up on her toes, gasping when she saw and reached for the fabric inside, quickly pulling it up and out despite her father's protests.

"Papa! Look!" Carla giggled as she twirled around with a dress.

"Carla, be careful," He ordered, moving to take the garment out of her hands, running a careful hand over the dark purple fabric as the memories came flooding back to him. He recalled the smile on his wife's face when he gifted her the outfit. It was right before a festival. He wasn't one to participate in such things, but it made her happy, so he did it. For that particular celebration, she had been lamenting about not having anything new to dance in, so he pulled a few _several_ strings and had the outfit finished just in time. It looked beautiful on her, the colour complimenting her eyes as they sparkled when the two of them twirled about the dance floor. He was then drawn out of his thoughts by a small tug at his pant leg.

"Papa?" Carla said, staring up at him with the same eyes from his memories. For a moment, he thought he saw his wife reflected in them and had to quickly shake it off before kneeling down to his daughter's level, a gentle hand settling on her shoulder as he said,

"This was your mother's favourite dance dress. She _loved_ to dance. In fact, sometimes we would dance together for no reason." He smiled at the way her eyes widened as she processed his words. He imagined that she was trying to picture it, the careful steps, the flowing fabric…Her steps had always been perfect. People always loved watching her dance, and it was a decent way to make extra money while planning their next big scheme.

"I want to dance too!" Carla declared excitedly, earning a startled took in response as Victor took in her request, his confused expression soon melting into a smile.

"I guess I'll have to teach you then," He declared as he first stood and then leaned down to pick her up, twirling her around before setting her on the bed, taking her hands once she was situated and guiding her through her first small, easy steps, relishing in the way her eyes lit up as she moved in time with his instructions.

* * *

They found time to practice every day after that. No matter where they were or what the weather was, Carla would find a place and reason to dance. Even if it was just to practice a few new steps. She relished in the time they spent, eager to learn each and every new step and sequence. Victor was patient with her, carefully guiding her through the steps and never scolding her when she mis-stepped, only encouraging her to try again. There were times where Carla had to stifle down her laughter at how utterly ridiculous her father looked when demonstrating the woman's part of the dances, which got increasingly easier as she got older and taller. As she grew, so did her sense of rhythm and coordination. Dancing felt natural and _right_ to her.

She fondly remembered when her father gave her that first festival dress. She knew, even at seven years old that he didn't want to go, but he did. For her. Just as he had done for her mother all those years ago. He even took some of the money they had earned that day to get her hair done, which he was admittedly terrible at, not able to do much other than collect it into a ponytail. If he was feeling creative, he might tie a braid around it, but other than that, every else he tried was a disaster. She didn't mind, though. She was grateful that he tried for her, but also equally grateful that he knew his limits and when to leave it to a professional. There was nothing that could break her spirit as the stylist carefully pinned red flowers into her hair, finishing just as the opening ceremony began. As soon as she secured the last pin, Carla practically bounced out of the salon, ignoring her father as he unsuccessfully tried to call for her, quickly becoming entranced with everything. The people, the costumes, the decorations, the food…It was like something out of a storybook.

"Carla!" Victor called, setting his hands on her shoulders when he finally caught up to her. "You _know_ better than to run off without permission." He scolded, noting how he was ignored as she simply took his hand and started off towards the middle of the square.

"Come _on_ , Papa! I want to _dance_ ," She insisted, giving him the signature smile that always resulted in him - and pretty much anyone else -doing _exactly_ what she wanted. He noticed that as she began to observe and understand people a little more, she became more manipulative. She had already figured out that her looks were an advantage, which came in handy in more than one of their schemes. But today wasn't about that, it was about letting her have fun and dance to her heart's content, which she did without hesitation. She was happy to show off her talents and revelled in the attention she received from onlookers who complimented both her and Victor on her skills.

"How old is she?" One woman asked, eyes moving along with Carla's feet as she hit every step perfectly.

"Seven," Victor replied, taking pride in the shocked look he received in response, hiding it as he added unconsciously, "She gets it from her mother."

* * *

As the years passed, her talent became an asset. When she turned thirteen, he decided that she was old enough to start performing for income. He supposed he could have goaded her into it earlier, but the protective side of him wanted to wait until she was old enough to hold her own if anything happened. The first few times she went out on her own, things went smoothly, but when she came back one afternoon with her hair in shambles and her dress covered in mud, but still carrying all of the money that she admitted to having wrestled back from a group of teenage boys, he knew he made the right decision. However, despite having to channel her skills for extra income, Carla ever lost sight of why she started dancing in the first place, and never let her father forget it either, often using her mother's memory as way to get him on his feet when he rejected her.

Then came the day that she was standing in the mirror smiling at the reflection of herself in her mother's purple festival dress while a stylist wove a dark ribbon into her hair. She remembered every detail of that fateful day. The last festival they attended before she learned about Shuriki and her father's plans to help her with her revenge. And the last night that they danced together, the festival lights shining off of her favourite necklace as he lifted and twirled her around that last time, not knowing that, as soon as her feet hit the ground, he wouldn't take her hand again. Not for a long time.

Shuriki despised music and dancing, and therefore banned both in their small cottage, much to Carla's chagrin. She knew it was simply part of the arrangement, but quickly grew to resent it. Dancing wasn't just some trivial activity, not to her. It was _part_ of her. One of the only ways she ever felt connected to the mother she never got a chance to meet. She soon took to simply dancing alone whenever she had the chance, often late at night when the sorceress and her father were sleeping. She would never say it out loud, but as she moved about the clearing, she thought about wearing her mother's dress again. Imagined how it would twirl around her feet as she followed the steps she knew by heart, letting the moonlight guide her around the various branches and rocks scattered about the ground as she got lost in her fantasy, the real world fading farther and farther away with each step until,

" _Carla_!" Victor called, his voice snapping her out of her trance.

She gave as startled noise as her steps halted, "Papa!" She awkwardly spat out, instinctively pushing as piece of hair out of her face before simply lingering, feeling unusually small under his disapproving gaze. "What brings you out here?" She giggled nervously.

"I could ask you the same question," He replied, crossed his arms.

"Oh, well…I guess I needed…I mean, I was just…" She stuttered and then finally sighed, knowing that she couldn't manipulate her way out of this. Instead, she took in a breath, put on her best smile as she stepped up to her father, offered her hand, "Dance with me, Papa."

"Carla, you know very well that Shuriki…"

She cut him off, "What Shuriki doesn't know won't hurt her."

"But –"

"You know you want to," Carla pressed, giving him a knowing look and forcing down her excitement when he finally took her hand.

"Just _one_ dance," Victor insisted as his daughter eagerly led him across the clearing and got into position.

"Ready?" She asked, taking the first step at his nod.

Even though it had been months, they easily fell back into it, each and every step perfectly in sync as they moved around each other. It was as if they had never stopped. All the arguing they'd been doing over the past few weeks no longer mattered. In fact, nothing mattered except for them, their steps, and an unspoken bond that refused to be broken.

* * *

 _If you could trust yourself to see_

 _And if you could give yourself some room_

 _To run free_

 _For a moment, remember when_

 _I know that you would come back again._


End file.
